


lean back, close your eyes

by amandaskankovich



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/F, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:41:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1442146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandaskankovich/pseuds/amandaskankovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You keep thinking about how when you were little your mom would bathe you and your brothers and Mandy two at a time in the tub. One after the other.  You remember how she’d wash your hair with a plastic cup filling it with tub water.<br/>"Lean back," she’d say, "Close your eyes."</p><p>Three weeks after the events of 4x12</p>
            </blockquote>





	lean back, close your eyes

You keep thinking about how when you were little your mom would bathe you and your brothers and Mandy two at a time in the tub. One after the other. Contrary to popular belief the Milkovich kids did bathe.  
You remember how she’d wash your hair with a plastic cup filling it with tub water.  
"Lean back," she’d say, "Close your eyes."

 

*  
"Lean back," you tell him, "Close your eyes."  
He does and you’re grateful. It’s a small request but asking him to do anything these days you might as well be asking him to empty the ocean with a table spoon.  
He’s doing this and it’s progress.  
You pour the soap out of his hair with tubwater in a plastic cup.  
You dry him off afterwards and he leans his head into your shoulder and you know he’s doing this because standing is too much.  
You let him stay there for a minute warm and damp.  
You feel the heat from his body. You lift your hands and touch his wet hair. You do this.  
Then you yell for Mandy to come help you get him dressed.  
*  
You tell yourself that this was a good day because it was.  
Mandy made him a grilled cheese earlier and he ate almost half of it.  
Then you managed to get him in the tub.  
Now he’s sleeping again.  
Almost two whole hours out of bed: Today was a good day.  
"Are you going to eat anything?"  
"What?" You ask.  
"I saved you a plate from dinner," your wife says,"it’s in the microwave."  
There’s a cigarette in your hand and you find yourself staring very hard at the kitchen wall. It occurs to you that you hate the color of them but you can’t remember ever giving a shit about that before.  
At some point she must have given up on you responding to her because you hear the ding of the microwave and then there’s a plate of something in front of you.  
"Nika made it," she says and is that a hint of pride?  
"Nika cooks?" So she does do things besides play the trumpet, smoke pot and eat out your wife. That’s interesting to know. She’s been living here three weeks and you’ve said maybe six words to each other. Not that you’ve been particularly interested in getting to know her. You have other things to worry about. Fucking obviously.  
"What the fuck is it?" You ask looking down.  
"What do you mean what the fuck is it? It’s goulash."  
You poke it with a fork.  
"It’s fine. Would you just fucking eat it?"  
You pick up a bottle of hot sauce and drown the mess in it. Svetlana rolls her eyes but you manage to finish it off and you’ve had worse you guess.  
The baby went to bed pretty much the same time Ian did. Mandy’s working late. Nika’s passed out on the living room couch. There’s not really anything to do.  
Ian’s not getting up for the rest of the night.  
You know this.  
It’s 7:30.  
"You want a beer?" She asks.  
Yes you want a beer. Yes you want two beers. Three beers maybe.  
But you can’t really do shit like that anymore.  
"Yeah," you tell her, "Just one though."  
You have responsibilities.  
She takes out two keeping one for herself and then she sits back across from you.  
You’re still getting used to this. This sort of peace between the two of you. This odd little truce whatever it is. Where you can drink a beer across from her and talk to her because there’s no one else you can talk to at this second.  
"I think I’m going to paint the kitchen," you tell her.  
She looks around, “Yeah,” she says, “Why not? What color.”  
"I don’t know," you say, "yellow maybe. Blue?"  
You don’t tell her how you googled colors and depression last night with Ian sleeping beside you.  
"Yellow’s nice," she says, "It’s a happy color."  
"I might paint my bedroom too," You say, "Maybe blue."  
"You gonna paint the whole house? Well it’s good to have a project. Maybe paint mine red?"  
Her and Nika’s room that used to be your father’s room. Your father who none of you really talk about anymore.  
(Well he’s not getting out any time soon and they’ll think about him when they have to.)  
"Yeah," you say getting up from the table and taking your barely sipped beer with you, "Maybe."  
You walk into your bedroom and there’s Ian under the covers curled into himself and deep asleep.

 

You lean back into the empty space beside him.

You close your eyes.


End file.
